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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29358945">My Last Duchess</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying'>SeeThemFlying</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And Jaime helps her through it, Angst and Smut, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, I promise, It's only a lil bit of angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, The general vibe is that Brienne is having a moment, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, there is the tiniest hint of past j/c</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:07:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29358945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,<br/>Looking as if she were alive.</p><p>Painting, poetry, and porn.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>My Last Duchess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/gifts">ChocoNut</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so here's the deal.</p><p>Firstly, I didn't get the memo it should be porn without plot and ended up writing too much plot, so tried to scale it back somewhat. It is hopefully now more porn than plot, even if I have exceeded the word count a *little*.</p><p>Secondly, I lied about the poetry. There's only poetry because the title is taken from Robert Browning's "My Last Duchess" (I promise nobody gets murdered). There is a lot of painting and porn though. I liked the alliteration.</p><p>Thirdly, I'll admit I was super intimidated when I saw I had ChocoNut as a prompter. They have written so many wonderful smutty fics and I have never attempted PWP before, so I really hope they like this. The prompt I chose was "Jaime appreciating various aspects of Brienne's body in bed, showing her how badly he wants her".</p><p>Finally... thank you for tarthiana and wildingoftarth for organising everything. I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Brienne becomes Lady Lannister - the petty queen of Casterly Rock - the thing that most intimidates her is not the castle's sheer size, nor the bannermen's weighty expectations, nor the ancient name heavy on her shoulders.</p><p>No.</p><p>The thing that intimidates her most are the four women who stare down at her from the walls of the Great Hall, condemnation in their eyes.</p><p>Cerissa Brax, Rohanne Webber, Jeyne Marbrand, and Joanna Lannister had all been painted after they gave their lord a male heir, proving their fecundity and faithfulness. Cerissa had started the tradition. After bearing the future Lord Tybalt, she had commissioned the Westerland's finest artist to paint her at her most resplendent. Wearing a silver gown embroidered with amethyst unicorns - the shield of her natal house - Cerissa's piercing gaze made her future daughters and daughters' daughters feel watched, judging them before they had even been born. In painted repose, Rohanne was not as superior as her mother-in-law, but still intimidating. With a rope of red hair and laughing grey-green eyes, there was something approachable in her looks that Cerissa lacked. Nevertheless, Rohanne was still a striking beauty; seventy years on, she still caught the eye of many who walked past her golden frame. Jeyne Marbrand possessed a cold loveliness, austere and steely-gazed. It seemed that she had wanted to outdo her predecessors, as her portrait was the biggest, and she had made sure she was painted with the infant Tywin on her lap. Her baby boy was <em>hers </em>just as much as her husband's.</p><p>Yet in spite of Cerissa's indomitable spirit, Rohanne's impish knowing, and Jeyne's chained control, none of them intimidate Brienne as much as Joanna.</p><p>When Jaime - <em>beloved</em> - looks up at Joanna's portrait, Brienne knows he sees a face that he has newly lacquered onto his memory after a long period of forgetting. Jaime paints those caring green eyes on every distant, happy feeling he senses in his past, liberating his history from the shadowed grief that had subsequently polluted it. She tries to feel pleased for him - it is alright to cherish a mother's memory, no? - but Brienne sees no such warmth in Joanna's pale face.</p><p>No... she just sees Cersei.</p><p>Beautiful, dead Cersei.</p><p>There had once been portraits of Cersei too, but Jaime had the servants pull them down the day Brienne arrived in the castle. She often wonders what he did with them. Did he burn them, like he promised? Or are they still locked away in a secret room where only he can see them?</p><p>"We should get an artist in from Lannisport to paint your portrait," Jaime says after consummating their marriage on their wedding night, as they lie cocooned together in the satins and silks of Lord Lannister's luxury bed. "Members of the guild would vie for such an honour."</p><p>Brienne doubts that - any decent artist would want to create <em>art</em>, and that is impossible if they are to be painting her - so she snorts with laughter. "It would be quite the challenge to make me beautiful, I suppose."</p><p>"They'll want to paint you because you are a wonder," he says, before kissing her cheek, right over her unsightly scar. "A miracle, majestic, a...."</p><p>"Monstrosity."</p><p>"I was going to say <em>a marvel."</em></p><p>"And that is very good of you." Jaime has a way of rendering her beautiful with his words, even if she sometimes feels their artifice. "But you don't have to pretend that the artists of the Westerlands are jumping to capture my likeness. They'll want to paint me because you'll pay them lots of money."</p><p>Smiling up at him, Brienne tries to distract him from the topic with good humour, lest she let the darkness in. Even though the paintings of her are long gone, Cersei's ghost often flits through the castle, moving so quietly her footsteps are barely audible. She and her brother-lover had always been so beautiful - incomparable, really - that the new Lady Lannister has become acutely aware of her own reflection. Brienne has always known the blunt, awful truth of ugliness, how it invades a life entirely unwanted and scars it. And Jaime must see, surely, that his new wife has none of the physical allure of his dead twin. Therefore, his agitation makes her a little fearful. Does he want his lady wife painted wearing taffeta in order to exorcise that ghost? Is he screaming at spirits, swearing that he has moved on?</p><p><em>He can't seriously want a painting of me, </em>thinks Brienne. <em>Not me. Not truly. He can want me as a friend, a wife, and as a place to warm his cock, but as art? No.</em></p><p>While she does not voice her fears, Jaime keeps looking at her softly, evidently unwilling to let the subject lie.</p><p>"It'd be good if you were painted. It'll..."</p><p>Not wanting to hear any more of this ridiculous idea, Brienne presses two fingers to his lips. At her touch, his mouth purses in an echo of a kiss.</p><p>"Your mother wasn't painted until you were born, and your grandmother until your father was in his crib. There's no need for a portrait of me. I might never give you a son."</p><p>Mildly outraged by that statement, Jaime rolls over to look at her, curling around her in that strangely protective way that has become habit. "I don't care. If you never give me a son, never give me children, I'd still want a painting of you, so everyone knows you are my lady wife... my wench."</p><p>In spite of Jaime's ardour, Brienne's smile dims. She has always found his particular brand of kindness, sweetness, and passion unfathomable, especially when he aims it directly at her. His old, barbed cruelties had been easier to deal with, because they had easily fitted into how she imagined the world to be. She therefore finds it difficult to lift her hand to cup his cheek, trying not to sigh aloud when he leans into her touch.</p><p>"Everybody knows I am your wife, Jaime. We don't need a painting to prove it."</p><p>"But..."</p><p>"Let's not discuss this now," she says, kissing him into acquiescence. His lips are as soft and luscious as an exotic fruit, and he tastes of love. Well, at least of what Brienne identifies love with. "Maybe after I have given you a son and heir; then we can talk about it."</p><p>For a few seconds, Jaime looks as if he is going to fight her on this point, but then his frown is exchanged for a slowly growing smile. Mischievously, he slips his hand between her legs, right where she is still sore from their earlier fucking. She parts her thighs for him, greedy in spite of her weariness.</p><p>"We'd better get started on making that son and heir, shouldn't we?"</p><p>He kisses her half-hearted objections away.</p>
<hr/><p>Unfortunately for Brienne, their first child - beautiful, bouncing, blue-eyed Arthur - is a boy, meaning Jaime has set the wheels in motion to summon the artist from Lannisport before Brienne is even out of her birthing bed.</p><p>"He'll be here in a sennight, so you must decide what you want to wear. I vote for your blue armour with Oathkeeper at your waist. You will look majestic."</p><p><em>I want to look pretty, </em>says a small voice in her head, which makes her feel vaguely pathetic. She likes many things about her body because is a well-honed weapon - made for riding, fighting, and (according to Jaime) fucking - but there is still part of her that is a small girl who wants to be the prettiest at the party, beautiful in silks and satins.</p><p>"I... I..."</p><p>"I'll help you pick things out," says Jaime, riding roughshod over her unease. "You know I have an eye for it."</p><p>Brienne rolls her eyes. "You are so modest."</p><p>"Yes," he chuckles. "I am."</p><p>Under Jaime's guidance, Brienne settles on the armour and Oathkeeper, embossed with rubies. Although Jaime looks immensely pleased with the choice, Brienne cannot help but think of Lady Cerissa's amethyst unicorns and the emeralds in Lady Joanna's hair.</p><p><em>Maybe I should wear a dress, </em>thinks Brienne even as she acquiesces to Jaime's plan. <em>Just like the other women, just like the other ladies...</em></p><p>She wonders what Cersei would have worn.</p><p>In spite of her fears, there is no space for doubt when Jaime introduces her to the painter a week later. The man is grey of hair and beard, but he wears his clothes in such a precise way that Brienne instantly recognises him as a connoisseur of beauty. She cannot help but think her ugliness abhorrent to him.</p><p>"Wench, this is Master Talbot. He is here to paint you."</p><p>Master Talbot bows deeply; if he feels disgust, he does not show it. "An honour to meet you, Lady Brienne."</p><p>She offers a quick nod of the head, before turning back to her husband. "Jaime... I'm not sure..."</p><p>"Master Talbot, you and Brienne can work out where's best to do the painting. If you need me, I will be down in the armoury. Ser Addam and I need to discuss the livery for the new squires."</p><p>Acting as if that explained everything, Jaime presses a quick kiss to Brienne's cheek. "I cannot wait to see the finished product," he purrs hotly, before departing the room, his cloak billowing behind him.</p><p>Brienne turns to Master Talbot. Her heart is in her throat.</p><p>Somewhere in the distance, Cersei laughs.</p><p>She decides what she must do.</p>
<hr/><p>After weeks of hard work on Master Talbot's part, the finished painting is a beauty. Gone are Brienne's disfiguring freckles and the broken nose, to be replaced with the features of a nubile young maiden a man would be proud to call his wife. Although the woman in the frame is not <em>exactly </em>Brienne herself, the Lady of Casterly Rock can't help but think this woman will not be out of place on the walls of the Great Hall. She might even exorcise the ghost of Cersei, her husband's sister-lover.</p><p>Brienne and Master Talbot are observing the painting proudly when Jaime comes to view it, his wine red cloak billowing behind him. The moment he appears, Master Talbot bows deeply, playing the grateful serf. Following his lead, the conformist part of Brienne compels her to bob to her lord in a quick curtsey. Jaime looks at her as if she has gone mad.</p><p>"W-what do you think of my portrait?" asks Brienne, linking her arm with his.</p><p>She wants to feel close, even if it all goes wrong.</p><p>There is a beat of silence as Jaime turns to view the painting, which Master Talbot has displayed on an easel. Brienne hopes to see a satisfied cheer in his expression, as well as an appreciation of Talbot's artistry.</p><p>Unfortunately, a cloud crosses the moon.</p><p>"Who's that?" Jaime asks, his tone dark. "That is not Brienne."</p><p>Master Talbot speaks up. "It <em>is</em> Lady Brienne, m'lord. Well... an <em>approximation </em>of Lady Brienne."</p><p>"I didn't want an approximation. I wanted a portrait of my wife."</p><p>Sensing her husband's agitated disquiet, Brienne bites her lip, unsure of how to respond. "It is me, sweetling. See: there are my blue eyes, my blonde hair, and..."</p><p>"Your freckles are missing. And you're not wearing your armour and sword."</p><p>"Lady Brienne chose the dress," says Master Talbot, clearly not happy to take responsibility for the disaster. "And she said she didn't want the sword..."</p><p>Jaime's head snaps around to gaze at her, so fast that she fears he will break his neck. He looks so damn betrayed that Brienne can barely meet his eye.</p><p>"You didn't want Oathkeeper?"</p><p>Feeling cowed and contrite, Brienne shucks her arm from around his, breaking the link between them. She cannot stand a moment more of this torture.</p><p>"I... I... I've got to go..."</p><p>Jaime stares at her, lost as to the cause of her unhappiness. "Wench?"</p><p>"I've got to go. I'm sorry."</p><p>Before he can stop her, Brienne turns on her heel and dashes away from them both, painter and partner alike. As she hurries through the cavernous corridors of Casterly Rock, her eyes fill with tears. She is so ashamed. All she had wanted was to please her husband, and it appears she is not even capable of that. Jaime wants to embarrass her, to hang the truth of her hideousness on the wall, even as the ghost of Cersei laughs from beyond the grave.</p><p><em>Ugly Brienne! </em>the dead woman chants, singing gleefully even as Brienne enters the safety of the chamber she shares with her husband. <em>Uglier in daylight! Brienne the Beauty! Brienne the Beast!</em></p><p>Brienne's tears have drowned out Cersei's voice by the time Jaime makes himself known some time later. He knocks gently on the door - more a servant than her lord husband - and waits for her sign of acknowledgement from his wife before entering. Brienne doesn't turn to look at him; she doesn't want to reveal her tears. In spite of her silence, Jaime crosses the room, places his golden hand on the side, and comes to lay on the bed beside her, his warm presence a question without words. As the mattress sinks with his weight, she rolls on her back. Catching sight of him out of the corner of her eye, Brienne sees that his expression is soft and pleading. She crumbles at once.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"What for?"</p><p>"That you didn't like the painting."</p><p>Jaime tilts his head to one side, clearly confused. "Why would I like it? It doesn't look anything like you."</p><p>"I looked <em>pretty."</em></p><p>"As I said, it doesn't look anything like you."</p><p>Incensed at his casual cruelty, Brienne meets his eye. "Oh, <em>thank you </em>for your support."</p><p>"I'm not being unsupportive," he says, turning to face her. "I'm just being honest. If I told you that you're pretty, I would be lying, and I thought we agreed that we'd always be honest with each other."</p><p>"There's honesty and there's cruelty, and you are being <em>cruel.</em>"</p><p>"Am I?" he asks, reaching out for her hand. Before he can touch her, Brienne bats him away, which makes Jaime laugh bitterly. "Now <em>you're </em>being cruel, wench."</p><p>"What? For not touching you?"</p><p>"Yes," says Jaime softly, shuffling closer to her. Brienne cannot help but notice the way her skin tingles when his body - warm and strong - presses along her side. "You know how much I like it when you touch me."</p><p>Brienne bites the inside of her lip as she looks down at her freckly hands and, this time, does not pull away when he interlocks their fingers. She can't deny it - she likes it when Jaime touches her too - but this time, there is also an incredible sense of foreboding at the sight of his golden skin against her own freckles. It makes her feel like a peasant stealing her lord's porcelain.</p><p>"Brienne..."</p><p>When she looks up at him again, she can barely see him because of the tears welling in her eyes.</p><p>"Is it so wrong that I want to be pretty... just once?"</p><p>His arm comes around her front so quickly that Brienne tumbles into him, her head falling onto his shoulder as her tears overwhelm her. As she sniffles into the expensive silk of his shirt, Jaime presses a soft kiss to her crown, then rests his head against hers. The unspoken tenderness of it all makes her cry harder.</p><p>"Why do you want to be pretty? What <em>use</em> is pretty?"</p><p>She laughs into is collarbone, pronounced through the silk. "Only someone beautiful could ask that question unironically."</p><p>"It still deserves an answer," he says firmly, his voice riffling through her hair. "Would pretty help you spar, cutting down every man who approaches you with a sword? Or labour to bring Arthur into the world? Or when you are managing our household? How would <em>pretty</em> change anything about your life, anything at all?'</p><p>Brienne lifts her head from his shoulder, baffled that he would think this way.</p><p>"Of course my life would be different."</p><p>"How?'</p><p>Stepping back into her past, Brienne thinks of all the alternate paths she might have taken if she had been blessed with a beautiful face. Would Septa Roelle have been kind and cherished her like a daughter? Would Connington have been courteous and charming instead of cruel and crass? Would she have left the only home she had ever known for Renly, to serve at his side and surrender her life for him?</p><p>"I would likely have married Connington, for one. If I had been pretty, he would have taken me for my island, no doubt about it."</p><p>Jaime huffs. "Then it is a <em>good</em> thing that you are not pretty."</p><p>"How did you come to that conclusion?"</p><p>"Well, by your own logic, if you had been pretty, you would have never married me."</p><p>Brienne blinks slowly, horrified at the thought.</p><p>"I <em>would</em> have."</p><p>"No, you wouldn't," grins Jaime, clearly enjoying the way he is riling her into loquaciousness. "You would have married that Connington bastard and climbed into his bed every night, and probably enjoyed sucking his cock just as much as you do mine."</p><p>Outraged, Brienne tries to sit up, but Jaime rolls his body onto her and pins her down, holding her firmly. Given his smirk, the mood in the room quickly changes. They both know that Brienne is stronger than Jaime and that she has both the height and weight advantage in a wrestle, but he is not playing fair. When Brienne tries to take control and flip him off her, Jaime just pulls her close and kisses her, burying his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder to suck her skin.</p><p>As ever, it makes Brienne feel weak; silly, giddy, and weak, but oh so loved.</p><p>"Stop it," she says half-heartedly, unsuccessfully trying to wriggle from his grasp. "I'm trying to start an argument with you."</p><p>He laughs into her neck, sending sparks of desire tripping up her spine.</p><p>"Well, <em>I</em> don't want to argue with <em>you</em>."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>He looks up at her, his green eyes shining as his beautiful golden hair falls in spirals to his shoulders. "Because I love you," he says, with such disarming simplicity that she stops trying to get free of his grasp. "I love you dearly, and I hate it when you are upset by ridiculous things."</p><p>The romantic mood passes at once at the suggestion that she is <em>ridiculous</em>, and Brienne tries to shove him off her, even as he turns himself into a dead weight to keep her pinned down.</p><p>"I'm not ridiculous!"</p><p>"I didn't say you were," he replies, catching one of her wrists and pinning it to the bed. She huffs, irritated. "I said you upset yourself over ridiculous things... and I hate that."</p><p>Feeling that he was leading her down this path to emotional vulnerability, Brienne draws up into herself, ready to snap back. "What's ridiculous about wanting to be beautiful?"</p><p>"Nothing in itself, but it <em>is</em> when you end up getting a painting done of yourself that looks nothing like you because of it."</p><p>Although his tone is harsh, there is a softness in his expression that makes her stop fighting him. The gentleness in his gaze compels her to spill her secrets, coaxing them out of her using expectant silence as bait.</p><p>"I wanted to make you happy," she admits, closing her eyes in her embarrassment. "And I thought... if I could look like the other Lady Lannisters... with hair like spun gold and rose bud lips... you would feel proud of me... proud that I'm your wife."</p><p>"I <em>am </em>proud that you are my wife." As he speaks, his voice is hoarse and heavy, betraying his sadness and sincerity. "And, anyway, there is nothing that differentiates you from the other Lady Lannisters, except perhaps that you are fiercely loved by your husband."</p><p>Brienne scoffs in spite of his attempt at sweetness. "I look nothing like them. I look..."</p><p>"You look just like them. You are a woman, aren't you? Just like them."</p><p>"Being a woman is not enough," she says, picturing Cerissa, Rohanne, Jeyne, and Joanna in their staggering beauty. "How are we alike? Name one way."</p><p>"Well, your hair for starters..."</p><p>She rolls her eyes. "If you say my hair is like spun gold, I will throw something at you."</p><p>"I wasn't going to say it was like spun gold." He reaches out with his one hand to stroke her hair as gently as if he were petting a kitten. "I was going to say it is the colour of the sun hiding behind a cloud; almost white, but with a hint of yellow. Beautiful."</p><p>Embarrassed by Jaime's turn to the poetic, Brienne tries to verbally bat him away. "I would say it is the colour of straw."</p><p>"And <em>I </em>would say you are not very imaginative," he grins, tracing his fingers down her cheek. "You would also probably say that you don't like your freckles..."</p><p>"I don't."</p><p>"I <em>know</em>," he says, giving her a sad smile. "But I like your freckles very much. They are characterful, and I would like to kiss every single one of them before I die."</p><p>To prove his point, Jaime begins to plant a series of kisses on Brienne's face, right over the most packed constellations of freckles, mapped in spirals. It feels so good that Brienne starts to relax, dropping her free hand to Jaime's side so she can stroke his fanned ribs through his shirt. Such gentle intimacy only seems to spur him on, as he draws back to look at her once again.</p><p>"And you may think your scars are ugly, but they are not. They are just there, a physical reminder of your story... <em>our </em>story. I would only see them removed to save you from the pain you suffered, not because I find them repulsive."</p><p>His kisses move from her freckles down the mangled flesh of her cheek, where Biter had once mauled her. The press of Jaime's lips sends her back to the inn for a brief, terrifying moment - his weight upon her a ghost of Biter, his gentle hands violently pinning her down - but the memory quickly recedes as Jaime begins to chase his desire down her neck, to the reddened scar that symbolises her love for him. She whimpers as he adorns it with open-mouthed kisses, mixing the red of the rope burn with the purple bruises of his love bites.</p><p>"Jaime... oh, Jaime..."</p><p>Once all resistance has disappeared from Brienne's body, Jaime looks up at her again, love in his eyes. As they are both breathing heavily, there is no mistaking where this is going. His touch has always burned.</p><p>"Take your shirt off. I want to look at you."</p><p>Even though the sun is streaming through the window, Brienne obliges him. For half a second, she thinks of covering her breasts with her hands. Normally, they fuck in the dark, so this illuminated nakedness is quite unusual, but Jaime lets out such a happy little sigh that she refrains from doing so.</p><p>"I love your tits."</p><p>She rolls her eyes. "Gods, do you have to be so crude?"</p><p>"Yes," he grins, as he reaches up and cups her breast as carefully as if he were holding a baby bird. "I <em>do </em>have to be crude, because otherwise you will be your usual oblivious self and not understand what I usually say without words. So there you go: I love your tits."</p><p>Brienne is scandalised. "Jaime, I..."</p><p>Yet she does not get to finish her sentence, as his mouth closes around her right nipple and he begins to suck, while squeezing her other breast with his hand. It is not particularly gentle - he playfully bites her flesh in order to make her moan, and he pinches in a way that she is sure will leave bruises - but desire still begins to bloom at the base of her spine, and her hands jump to his hair to keep him in place.</p><p>"Yes, Jaime... yes... I..."</p><p>She wants to stretch out and reveal the greatest expanse of skin to him as possible, unfurling like a banner. There is something in the way Jaime kisses her that makes her feel so tall that she could reach the stars, while also being tiny and delicate and beautiful. A treasure. A wonder. A marvel. Yet before she can unveil herself to him, Jaime abruptly lifts his head and looks up at her, grinning.</p><p>"Why did you stop?" she huffs.</p><p>"Because I want to check you know what I am saying to you when we speak without words."</p><p>Brienne bites her lip nervously. During their lovemaking, she and Jaime rarely talk, so she finds it difficult to blurt out anything concerning her body or his. She therefore has to muster all her courage to be able to echo Jaime's words back to him.</p><p>"You love my t-t-tits."</p><p>His smile grows at her stammering. "Add it to the list."</p><p>Brienne takes a deep breath. While she fears that Jaime is verging on mockery, she decides to go along with this game. "You love my hair, my freckles, my scars, my... my tits."</p><p>"Good girl," he croons, before returning to kiss the place between her breasts. Nuzzling her flesh, his stubble scratching her, Jaime is so tender that Brienne believes the physical sensation touches her heart. "And I love your skin, because it smells so <em>good </em>and feels so <em>soft</em>."</p><p>As if to prove it, he begins to kiss down the plain of her stomach, seemingly not caring that Brienne has been a little reticent about him kissing her there since the birth of Arthur. Yet Jaime seems to not notice. Continuing his journey down her body, he recites a litany of affectionate compliments as he honours each and every part of her. She is so lost in feeling that she barely notices him shuffle her breeches and smallclothes over her hips. With him, nakedness feels natural.</p><p>"Hair... Freckles... Scars... Tits... Skin... Belly... Cunt..."</p><p>Brienne gasps when his mouth reaches where she is already wet and wanting, and she shivers when he chuckles, his breath catching in her pubic hair.</p><p>"My wanton wench," he purrs. "Wet after a few kisses. <em>Tut tut.</em>"</p><p>Annoyed at his teasing, Brienne tries to wriggle out from his grasp, but finds herself trapped by her breeches - which are now awkwardly tangled around her knees - and the fact that Jaime has stopped his laughing and is now licking her open, stroking the point he knows drives her wild with the flat of his tongue.</p><p>"Jaime... I... oh <em>gods... </em>Jaime..."</p><p>"Wench," he moans, continuing his onslaught as she shivers, lost. "<em>Wench."</em></p><p>That dirty, rude, loving nickname stirs inside her. As her want centres on her cunt - unfurling as her husband works his tongue in firm, broad strokes, then more precisely in a point to taste her - Jaime pulls her breeches and smallclothes down Brienne's legs until she is free, and he can throw them across the room. Unbidden, she opens her legs wider, inviting him in.</p><p>"Jaime, p-p-please."</p><p>"I know, wench, I know," he whispers, looping his arms under her legs so he can tug her closer to his mouth. The ravenous look in his eyes makes her melt. "Let me look after you. I'll make you feel good."</p><p>He does.</p><p>Brienne's desire builds - warm, wet, and overwhelming - as Jaime manhandles her until she is at the edge of the bed, her legs hanging over the side. Trying not to take his mouth off her, Jaime drops to the floor, kneeling like a pilgrim in front of a statue of the Warrior, or perhaps even the Maiden. As the feeling in her belly begins to contract - preparing to shake her apart - Jaime slips two fingers inside her and curls them just <em>so. </em></p><p>She gasps. How is he so wonderful?</p><p>"Jaime, I... <em>oh."</em></p><p>Suspended in her desire, willing for the final crescendo to come washing over her, Brienne reaches down and grasps Jaime's hair as he pumps his fingers, imitative of what his cock is soon to do. As he begins to move his fingers faster - punishing in their intensity - it makes her feel full and whole, rising and rising until she can do nothing but surrender to the feeling.</p><p>Stars dance behind her closed eyelids.</p><p>"Yes, Jaime!" she cries, pulling his hair at her release. He groans, either with the sharp pain or the triumph of bringing her off. "Yes, gods. <em>Yes</em>."</p><p>Removing his fingers from inside her and his mouth from her cunt, he looks up at her proudly, his lips shining with her desire. Brienne exhales, overwhelmed. Normally, she would expect him to say something quippy or outrageous, but instead he rocks back onto his heels and begins to kiss the soft skin of her inner thighs, taking his time to emboss red marks on her with his lips and teeth. Sitting up to watch him, Brienne is excited to see his cock standing up beneath his breeches, as true as a compass pointing north. She is desperate to take him in hand and pleasure him, to suck him off until he screams, but just about holds back. There is a look in his eyes that tells her Jaime wants to slow things down; perhaps he is as overwhelmed by desire as she is.</p><p>"Legs," he murmurs in between kisses, as he carves a trail drown her thigh. "I love your legs. I love how tall you are... that I have to stand on my toes to kiss you... that you can wrap yourself around me and make me feel safe... protected... loved. I love--"</p><p>"You, I love <em>you," </em>Brienne says, reaching down to cup his cheek. The pad of her thumb snags on his lip, and he pulls it into his mouth with a <em>pop.</em></p><p>Sucking gently, Jaime looks up at her, his green eyes ablaze with lust.</p><p><em>Gods, </em>Brienne thinks. <em>I want to be fucked. Hard.</em></p><p>He seems to sense what she wants, as in a moment he is up on his feet, pressing into the space between her legs as if he owns it. She doesn't object; instead, she simply helps him remove his clothes with desperate hands, only stopping to kiss the scraps of golden skin that that become visible as he undresses. Once naked, he leans down to kiss her, looking into her eyes with all the love she knows he feels.</p><p>"Slow and tender or hard and fast?"</p><p>"Hard and fast," she whispers, before swallowing heavily. She hadn't realised her throat was so dry with want. "I <em>need </em>you, now, Jaime. Please."</p><p>At her plea, he smirks proudly and pulls her into position. Open and exposed before him, Brienne tries to get closer, wanting him to rub his cock just where she is most slick and sensitive. She grunts when he refuses to oblige her, and then has to suffer his laughter.</p><p>"Impatient wench. Who knew you were so desperate for my cock?"</p><p>"Jaime, stop it," she whines, annoyed by his teasing. "Can you just... get on with it?"</p><p>At her demand, his flirty smile dissipates, replaced by a solemn expression.</p><p>"I need to say that you want this, that you want <em>me</em>."</p><p>Not wanting to waste any more time, Brienne's longings tumble out of her mouth.</p><p>"Fuck me, Jaime. <em>Please. </em>I..."</p><p>Chasing her desire, Jaime pushes inside, and it feels as if all the breath has been expelled from her lungs as he settles inside her. "Are you alright, wench?" he asks, brushing her hair out of her eyes with a gentle hand. "Comfortable?"</p><p>Once she catches her breath, Brienne nods and begins to rock her hips invitingly, drawing him in. Jaime smiles hungrily. He answers her with a slow, tentative thrust, checking the waters. Her little gasp of appreciation spurs him on further, and soon he is grinding into her - faster, harder, relentless - their flesh slapping together each time their bodies meet.</p><p><em>We're not going to last, </em>she thinks.</p><p>"Closer," she groans, as he pounds into her, her body his kingdom. "Closer... please."</p><p>Brienne knows he enjoys seeing her like this - exposed, open, and entirely at his mercy - but he never forgets her pleasure, so reaches up with his one remaining hand to squeeze her tits. He also settles his stump against her hip in order to better angle his thrusting, touching her inwardly. As he leans over her, his pubic bone hits her where she is most aching and tender, sending fiery sparks cascading under her skin. <em>Fuck. </em>Torn apart by the intense intimacy of it all, Brienne wants to focus on <em>his </em>pleasure, so works on inviting him in with every clench of her muscles.</p><p>He gasps as she draws him into her body - not denying him anything - and his thrusts grow increasingly erratic. She knows he is close.</p><p>"I'm going to..." he growls, his words barely understandable when framed by his desire. "Wench, I'm going..."</p><p>He looks into her eyes, and Brienne understands what he is trying to say; she has only very recently had Arthur, and they had spoken about not risking another babe so soon. Yet in that moment, she doesn't want to be apart from him. Separation at this point would be a physical pain, as well as an emotional one.</p><p>"Inside," she begs. "Please."</p><p>The second she gives him permission, Jaime groans as if he has been punched and curls in on himself, a jet of warmth bursting inside Brienne. Another wave of pleasure washes over her, relentless and overwhelming and so so <em>good.</em></p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p>There is nothing in the world like <em>this.</em></p><p>As the energy leaves him and enters her, Brienne gasps and reaches for his hand, wanting to feel close. Jaime entwines their fingers and holds on tightly, gripping hold of their love just as much as her hand. He thrusts into her a few more times, fucking his seed inside her more deeply, before falling on top of her, naked and sweaty. From the way his breath comes in shudders, Brienne can tell he is feeling vulnerable, so she wraps her arms and legs around him in unison, cocooning him with the body he has just labelled with love.</p><p>Softening inside her, he looks up at her, his smile sunshine.</p><p>"I love your eyes," he says gently, "because you look at me and see me. Just as I am."</p><p>She kisses his temple, overwhelmed by his sweetness. "And you see me, just as I am."</p><p>"And that's why I love you. Each and every part."</p><p>Blushing, Brienne tilts his chin up for a kiss. As their lips meet, she doesn't see the sun god she had married, who the milkmaids swoon over and the noblewomen plot to steal away. No, she just sees the man she loves; the man who has saved her from bears and wights and rapers, and liberated her from her own broken heart.</p><p>
  <em>Jaime.</em>
</p><p>Perhaps the painting is not such a bad idea, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading this schmoopy fic! I feel like a Oliver Twist asking for more, but I will greatly appreciate comments and kudos :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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